5. Waylan

Chapter 5

Waylan

It took all my willpower to walk away from him. When he unrolled his sleeping bag and looked at me, my heart leapt in my chest. My coyote wanted me to stay, to guard the omega and keep him safe. Not just because he cooked me fish, which meant he'd been thinking about me. But because he just seemed like he needed to be kept safe.

In the end, my human mind won out, and I left. Maybe it was my natural stoicism, but my coyote just couldn't ever take over all the way. As much as he'd like to sometimes.

As I padded home through the pawflower, my loneliness grew stronger with every step away from the boy. I turned back toward the willow tree several times, tempted to run back, then I had to wrestle myself away from the pull I felt toward him. That wasn't normal. Had I ever felt like that toward a person? Maybe the pawflower was starting to get to me after all. After five years of working with it, maybe my immunity had worn out, and I was high as a kite.

After the third time I almost turned around, I forced myself to shift into my skin and walked the rest of the way home, cold but determined to leave the boy alone.

In the morning, after barely getting any sleep, I brewed some coffee and contemplated bringing him a cup. As I stood at the window and stared across my land, I noticed the dark clouds on the horizon. Shit, that didn't look good.

I turned on the radio and listened to the weather channel. Another storm was coming. My crop had barely survived the last one, and there was no way I could risk another.

It was early, but I had a lot to get done before it started dumping. I hopped in my truck and drove as fast as I could to the gas station where guys gathered in the morning if they needed work. But as I should have predicted, the lot was empty. All the local farmers must have needed extra hands too as they prepared for the deluge.

Damn storms seemed to be getting stronger every year.

With a sigh, I pulled out my flip phone and called the few farmers I knew to ask if they had any extra hands I could hire for the day, but no dice.

Dammit . I turned back to the farm and rolled past the willow in time to see the boy rolling up his sleeping bag.

He could help… My coyote wasn't usually so helpful, but in this case, he was right.

He could help, but that might be…complicated. Since I'd moved to the farm five years ago, I'd been very careful not to get close to anyone. The effect I had on people, the effect The Quiet had on people, could be hard for some people to handle. I didn't want to inflict that on the boy. Still, was it worth losing half my crop over?

I sighed and brought the truck to a stop, then reversed back to the willow tree. He was leaning against the fence, his rucksack on his back and a funny smile on his face as I pulled up.

His eyes were a brilliant blue—the color of the summer sky. A flush rose up my face as our eyes stayed locked.

Finally, he looked down, and his hair fell across his face. "I seen you at my camp." He looked back up at me and grinned.

I nodded, not sure how much he'd seen. How much he knew.

He gestured at the land behind him. "This your farm?"

I nodded again. "Yep. Uh, yes, it is. And, uh, I was wondering if you're looking for some work." Why was I so nervous? I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter.

His eyes widened. "Work? Absolutely. I can help with anything you need. I'm a hard worker."

His eagerness brought back the memory of how weak he'd looked the other day, before I left the food for him. He looked better now, but still thin. Too thin.

"Get in. And bring your stuff."

He climbed inside the truck and brought the smell of cinnamon with him, as well as an electricity that filled the air between us.

Ignoring it as much as possible, I stared straight ahead and started driving.

From the corner of my eye, I could see him glancing over at me. I wasn't sure what to say to alleviate his concern and confusion.

Hey, I'm the coyote from your camp…

Hey, sorry I was creepily standing over you, naked, while you slept…

Nothing sounded right, so I said the first thing that came to my mind. "How old are you?"

He laughed in a surprised way. "Me? I'm, uh, I'm twenty."

I didn't say anything when he chuckled again, just furrowing my eyebrows as I wondered what was funny about that.

"Sorry, I just… It's my birthday today, so it's funny you should ask my age. Took me a minute to remember I'm turning twenty. Um, today."

I looked over as his gaze dropped to the floor, and he wiped his palms on his jeans.

Fuck, I was already affecting him. The Quiet was affecting him. That was why I didn't let myself get too close to people.

He cleared his throat and glanced at me. "How old are you ?"

The question caught me off guard, and I actually had to think about it for a few moments. "Twenty-four. No, twenty-five."

He laughed again. A kind laugh that was gentle, like a brook catching itself over rocks. "You don't sound so sure."

I smiled and relaxed into my seat. "I'm twenty-five. I just don't think about it very often. And I feel older." We pulled up to the barn, and I climbed out and gestured to the house. "I love there. Live there. I live there."

He nodded, ignoring my mistake as I showed him the barn and the chickens. Then I walked around the barn to the small Airstream.

"You can stay here." I opened it up and climbed inside.

He followed me in, wide-eyed as he looked around.

"I know it's not much, but it's got a bed, table, stove." I shrugged and met his eyes. "The basics."

A huge grin stole over his face. "Are you serious? I can stay in here?"

"Yeah. I've had workers live here before. As long as you don't mind…"

"Mind? Heck, this is a palace to me."

He set his rucksack on the bed and beamed.

A softness seemed to round out the edges of my heart. I liked him. He had a funny way of talking, but it was cute. Like he'd time traveled from a long time ago.

"Okay, then, we should get started. There's a lot to do before the ground gets soaked again."

He nodded and smiled, then stuck out his hand. "I'm Joe, by the way."

Wow. I hadn't even thought to ask his name. I was hopeless. "Waylan."

We shook hands, and I felt the same electricity that was there when I sat beside him in the truck. He smiled as if he felt it, too. Our eyes locked for a moment too long, and I swallowed, then quickly looked away.

"Let's get to it. The storm won't wait for us." I scooted out the small trailer door and took Joe back to the truck.

We spent the day working hard. I was worried he might be weak, but he kept up. Almost better than me.

I found myself constantly distracted by the lock of hair that always seemed to fall across his forehead and the smell of cinnamon drifting from his direction. Sometimes, he would look up and catch me staring at him. When our eyes met, he'd smile, and I had to look away from the honesty and openness in his expression. There was sadness there too, which intrigued me if I was being honest with myself.

For just two people, we got a huge amount of work done.

I could tell Joe was tired by the time I finally called it quits. If I were alone, I'd strip down and go for a swim in the lake. Instead, we went back to the house and I showed him the outdoor shower by the barn.

I brought out some soap and shampoo, along with a few towels. "Let me know if you need anything else."

When he looked at me, I felt embarrassed that he'd caught me watching him so many times today. It didn't help that being so close to him now made me feel a bit on edge.

As I walked back to the house, Joe coughed like he was trying to get my attention. "Waylan, thank you." The gratitude in his voice pierced my heart.

"You're welcome." I didn't look back. "Same thing tomorrow."

Back in my house, I set about heating up some dinner for him. I wasn't much of a cook—it was hard to get inspired when it was just me—but I did make a good stew and usually had a pot of it on hand. As I put his dinner on a tray, I noticed I was whistling.

What the hell was wrong with me?